Sans Amis(s)
by CoralFlower
Summary: (NOT an interactive story; see notes for more info) (Frisk's POV - Present Tense, 1055 words) You wake. Sleep feels heavy in your eyes, gluing your vision dark. You can't remember. "heya." You flinch away, and feel your face twist into a demented grin as you shrink back, suddenly registering the smoothness of the knife's handle as your thumb strokes idly over the polished surface.


**_Do not skip the warnings._**

AN: This is the first thing I've posted on this site in about three years (please don't read my old stuff lol), because I switched to writing in second person due to Homestuck, and I've been interpreting the rules to mean that no second person POV is allowed. Today, I read back over the rules and realised that second person is only disallowed as an example of an interactive story; since I don't write interactive stories, I'm in the clear. This is second person used stylistically; aka, because it's just how I write. The lack of capitalisation in Sans's dialogue is also a stylistic choice, meant to emphasise his laxness and superficially casual tone.

Now on to notes about the actual story!

Stylistic choices that may confuse you: Second person & Sans's lack of capitalisation, as previously mentioned, along with Frisk's dialogue lacking quotation marks. I left out quotation marks because I was trying to establish a sort of eerie effect where Sans breaks the narrative, reaching into narration instead of only following the things in quotes. It may be easier to just think of it as Frisk thinking aloud without really meaning to, though. I've marked all of their "dialogue" with an asterisk at the beginning of the line; we'll see if they stay there when the filter gets through with them.

(A note: some of the "dialogue" lines aren't formatted like dialogue, but like part of the narration. For example, "* You wish he would stop knocking your ice cream on the ground" might be responded to with "sorry, the look on your face is just too funny." Yes, it's confusing. Sometimes... things that are written with intelligent, deliberate stylistic choices... are harder to figure out [meme].)

Another weird stylistic thing: I left out personal pronouns in some action lines, specifically starting about a third of the way through. This is because those actions are not Frisk's, but Chara's, despite the fact that it's Frisk's body which is moving. The italicised paragraph near the end is also Chara, speaking directly to Frisk.

One more thing: "You wake" signals that Frisk/Chara have come back to life. It's the save-loading marker.

 **Warnings** : violence, profanity, blood loss, death, stabbing, non-graphic description of cauterisation (burning a wound shut), minor hand injury, surreal undertones, very oblique alcohol mention

 _If you skipped the AN, this story will confuse you quite a bit. I know it's wordy, but at least scan the "stylistic thing" bits if you're invested in understanding this._

* * *

You wake. Sleep feels heavy in your eyes, gluing your vision dark. You can't remember.

"heya." You flinch away, and feel your face twist into a demented grin as you shrink back, suddenly registering the smoothness of the knife's handle as your thumb strokes idly over the polished surface. You hold it out in front of you, squinting as it catches the light in his eye and reflects it directly into your eyes.

You can't remember. You're shaking, limbs unsteady, the tremor you can feel in your bones betraying the anxiety you feel.

"you look pissed."

* Is that pissed as in angry or pissed as in drunk?

"either way. i intended the former, but hey, not everything can go as planned. as you probably know."

* You have no idea what he's talking about. You don't want to fight.

"sorry, that's not an option." You feel the jarring shake of a fight starting. He doesn't say anything, just attacks. You go into a panic, dodge straight into the path of some bones, and fall over.

* Ow.

"yeah, your turn." You pull yourself to your feet, and lean against a pillar. Look up at him through your hair, look back down to avoid his lightless gaze.

Head snaps up, lips pull away from teeth in a grotesque grin. Body moves without permission, fear. Arm swings out, feet step forward. Hair swings. Eyes peer through hair, bright, too bright. Knife held in hand whips towards him. Blade glints, grin widens.

You pull back on the knife and freeze, on tiptoe, your arm extended out, the knife in your hand barely an inch from where he used to be. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face down. You feel your shoulders shake.

His footsteps echo behind you. "something's different. isn't it?"

Sans is sparing you.

You spare him. He kills you.

* * *

You wake, sleep still heavy in your eyes.

"heya." You flinch, but don't retreat. There's a knife in your hand. You drop it. It's not like you'd ever have a reason to use it.

* What's even going on here?

"oh, nothing much. just you going on a murderous rampage through the entire underground." His smile is frozen on.

* Is he serious?

"deadly." Your soul is shaken as the fight starts, and he immediately attacks. You keep calm, and dodge. His eye is lit, like the fire inside you as you watched the dust spread slowly out over the ground. Not your fire; it was just inside you. You remember.

 _flashback - past tense. no POV._

Feet stepped forwards, kicked at the dust, spread it out over the ground and it mixed with the snow like ash. Knees buckled, back hit the snow. Arms and legs spread out and swept across the ground.

Snow demons.

 _flashback end_

Your attention is pulled back to the fight by the fire in his soul, burning him out, burning him to ash. Feet dance forwards. You let it happen. Shock filters across his face. Arm had pushed forwards instead of slicing. You stand there, arm outstretched, knife stuck in his chest.

'...better with puncture wounds than long cuts. Cauterisation should not be used as a replacement for professional medical help, but as a way to buy time until you can access professional medical help. Be sure there is nothing flammable around the injured area before attempting this method. Find something to bite down on, as the pain could otherwise cause you to bite off...'

More than he could chew. That's what you are. Maybe he should use the fire in his soul to close the injury. Maybe Grillby could help, and that's why he's going to Grillby's.

 _No. He's going to Grillby's because he's mortally inured, and you're incoherent because that's the blade you're holding right now, not the handle, and you've lost a lot of blood, damn you, drop the fucking knife or I'll do it for you. Stupid kid, almost ruining everything because you're so scared of a little death. I'll show you death, kid, that was nothing, what you just did. You'll see, as soon as I'm done with you..._

You tune out the voice in your head, and blink wearily at the ceiling. It tilts. Something falls over your eyes and the voice screams at you as you stop thinking.

* * *

You wake.

 _end._

* * *

AN: Please feel free to review and tell me what you thought! One last note before I go, about the title: Sans Amis means _W_ _ithout Friends_ in French, and can also be translated as _Friendless._ The "Amis(s)" part is because something is amiss. Every word of the title doubles as a pun :)


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